Broken Bones, Broken Spirits
by WriterGem
Summary: Blaine Anderson is bullied. Like, a lot. And that's without anyone even knowing his deepest secret. But things will only get worse for Blaine when the secret is gets out. Luckily, Kurt Hummel is there to help him carry on. Trigger warnings- Bullying, suicide. The warnings will get more detailed before the chapters they apply to, so check for those in the ANs. Eventual Klaine.
1. Prologue

_**AN: **__Hey, everyone! This here is a new story that's been in my head for a while... so I thought I'd start writing it out and see where it leads. This is just the prologue and it's very short, but let me know what you think! Please! _

_For readers of my other story, The Changes We've Made, I am in no way abandoning that story- I just wanted to get this up, too. :)  
_

_Thanks guys! The title of the story is half from title of a song by the band Farewell Luna called "Broken Bones." I don't own that song, or Glee or its characters. _

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Prologue

"_I hope you don't mind_

_That I put down in words_

_How wonderful life is_

_While you're in the world."_

Blaine finished the song amongst applause and bowed. His eyes flit around the room of high school students until he finally caught sight of Peter. The boy was standing near the front of the stage, his green eyes sparkling under his the bangs of his wavy blond hair. His face was split in a grin that Blaine matched upon meeting his eyes.

Making his way off the stage, Blaine set aside his guitar and turned to Peter, who was holding his hand out. "Care to dance?"

Blaine's smile widened. "Of course." Just as he took the other boy's hand though, he felt two hands on his shoulders and before he knew it, he was being spun around. Blaine blinked, confused. A tall boy in a dress shirt was standing in front of him.

"There's no room for you at this dance, faggot." A punch in the stomach knocked the breath out of Blaine.

"Let go of-" Peter began. His shout was cut off when another boy behind him aimed a punch for his kidney. "Urghhhh."

The next few minutes went by in a flash of intense pain and yelled slurs. Kicks to the shins, punches to the abdomen, name-calling, all around terror. Blaine vaguely wondered why no one was doing anything to help him and Peter.

Suddenly a right hook blindsided Blaine completely, and he collapsed to the gym floor in his suit.

"And we don't need your faggy voice and stupid music ruining the dance." Blaine cringed when he saw a foot swing; then there was just horrifying pain in his throat and the sound of a snap and everything faded to black.

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Blaine woke with a start in a tangle of sheets, his clothes sticking to his sweaty body. His heart was racing and his breathing was ragged, wanting to scream but not able to. Swinging his feet off the bed, he placed them on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom and pushed himself up with his right arm, his left having been rendered useless in its cast across his chest.

He shuffled slowly into the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. A glass of cold water helped him calm down, but he didn't want to go back to his dark, lonely room. That was his fourth nightmare in as many nights, and he hated it, reliving the joy and happiness, the belief that maybe the night wouldn't be a waste, and then having all of that turned around on him, being humiliated and tortured and feeling fear and pain ripple through his body.

So, for the fourth time that week, Blaine sank onto the sofa in the family room and turned on the television. And, for the fourth time that week, he dozed off sometime around five AM after watching old reruns for hours.


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__Yeah, so here's another relatively short chapter. I'm sorry it's so short, and I'm sorry it's so introductory, but I hope you like it anyhow! Thank you, everyone who has alerted this story! It means so much, you don't even know. :)_

_This chapter takes place both before and after the prologue: the parts before will be in italics (so flashbacks/past=italics), and parts after are normal. _

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Blaine opened the door of his new locker and carefully placed his new textbooks inside. He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a still crisp and unwrinkled class schedule, scanning the list. First period World History with Mrs. Yentz in room two-twenty-four. He shut his locker door and turned down what he hoped was the right hallway.

Ten minutes later found Blaine creaking open the door to room two-twenty-four and stepping into the front of a crowded classroom. Mrs. Yentz paused in the middle of whatever she was saying about the Cold War and took his late pass and introduction note before turning to the class and saying, "Everyone, this is Blaine Anderson." Looking back to Blaine, she added, "Mr. Anderson, there is a seat over by the window that you may take."

He nodded in response, clutching the strap of his bag tightly and heading for the desk in the front of the room. When he got there, he pulled out a notebook, pen, and a yellow legal pad, which only had a few pages left. He sighed. He would have to get a new one soon if he wanted to be able to talk to anyone.

He opened his notebook to the first page and began doodling in the margins as Mrs. Yentz talked on. An air balloon floating to the sky, a bird sitting in a tree, a-

"Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine startled, his pen clattering to the wooden desk top as he lifted his head. Mrs. Yentz was looking at him from the front of the classroom. "Mr. Anderson, did you learn about the Cold War at your previous school?"

He nodded in response.

"What countries were involved, then, if you don't mind me asking?"

_I do mind, but, okay, _Blaine thought. _The Cold War was between the US and the Soviet Union. _

He picked his pen back up, planning to write the answer down, but before he could even touch the ballpoint to the paper, Mrs. Yentz stepped over and plucked it out of his hand.

"Mr. Anderson, I asked you a question," she said sternly, looming over him.

Blaine opened his mouth, but he knew no words would come out. He reached for his pen, still in Mrs. Yentz hand, but she pulled it away from him. "Mr. Anderson, I would appreciate if you would answer the question. Who was involved in the Cold War?"

Tears began to burn in the back of his eyes, but he swallowed and choked them down, instead reaching for his bag to find another pen. He could feel the class' eyes on his back.

When he turned, however, Mrs. Yentz sighed, put his pen back down, and turned on her heel to head back to the front of the classroom. "I'll ask that you pay more attention, Mr. Anderson, in the future."

Blaine just nodded, staring at his desk. He had never been so embarrassed (mostly because he had never gotten on the bad side of a teacher at all, let alone so quickly) and that was saying something.

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"_Hey, Blaine, what are you doing tonight?" _

_The boy in question set his history textbook in his locker and turned to face Peter. "Hmm, let's see, November sixteenth," he replied in a teasing tone, scratching his chin. "I don't know, maybe I have a hot date."_

_Peter grinned and leaned his shoulder against the bank of lockers. "Oh, do you?" _

"_I don't know, do I?"_

"_I would hope so."_

_Laughing, Blaine reached out to grip Peter's hand in his own. "Pick me up at 6 and head to the movies?"_

"_Sounds perfect. I can't wait," Peter answered. He squeezed Blaine's hand before remembering the crowded hallway and letting go of it. _

_Blaine sighed in response and turned back to his locker. He grabbed his math book before shutting it firmly. _

"_B, I'm sorry-"_

"_No, don't worry about it. I understand, I do." He glanced over his shoulder. Seeing a jock pass by out of the corner of his eye, he instinctively tensed up, waiting for the shove into the lockers or the smack on the head. Instead he got a yank on his satchel that had him stumbling backwards over an outstretched foot. Next thing he knew he was falling, his hands reaching out to catch himself, but to no avail. He landed painfully on his butt amidst laughter. _

_Peter watched with squinted eyes as the bullying football player walked away. When he disappeared, he reached out to help Blaine up. Blaine rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet. _

"_That was new," he said, brushing off the seat of his khakis and straightening his bag on his shoulder. The bell rang, and the hall emptied out as students hurried to their respective classes. One of them bumped into Blaine's shoulder forcefully, causing his glasses to slide down his nose._

"_Okay, yeah, that" -Peter gestured down the hall- "is one of the reasons they can't know, Blaine." When Blaine sighed again, nodding, he added, "I just- I don't want to give them another reason to torture you." He stretched out a hand to push one of Blaine's curls out of his face, but the boy just ducked his head, fixing the plastic frames balancing on his nose. "They wouldn't give you an easy time," he said, his hand falling back to his side._

_Peeking up through his eyelashes, Blaine mumbled, "They wouldn't give you an easy time, either." He shoved his hand in his pocket._

_Peter nodded, smiling sadly. "Then I guess this is what's best for both of us."_

"_I guess so."_

"_Blaine, your family doesn't even know."_

"_I know, I know, I'm sorry, I have no right-"_

"_You have every right," Peter interrupted. "You're in this relationship, too. I just don't think it's a good idea to, you know, let everyone know. Not here, not yet." _

"_Right."_

"_So… tonight? Movies? Are we still good?" Peter asked, a hint of hope in his voice._

_Blaine smiled, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and gripped Peter's once more in the empty hall. "We're good," he said, pulling the boy in for a quick kiss._

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_**A/N: **__And there we have the first official chapter. Let me know what you thought in a review! :) Love y'all!_


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Hey everyone! Here, take another chapter. :) If you're on the east coast, I hope Sandy didn't cause to much chaos for you- we just had some rain and wind here, nothing too awful, but NY and NJ had some crazy damage. :/_

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Blaine felt better than he had all day. His calculus class had gone decently as he hadn't had to say a word when he was called on to solve a problem in front of the class, and his French teacher had allowed him to write out an explanation for his lack of participation in a dialogue exercise. None of the other students seemed to think anything of it; at least, none but a tall, slender brunette boy wearing knee high Doc Martens over bright red jeans and a hippo head broach, which Blaine found to be a toss-up between humorous and morbid. The boy had continued to glance curiously at Blaine for the remainder of the class, all while, as far as Blaine could tell, insulting his conversation partner, a large, beefy boy in a football jersey, in casual French.

As soon as French was over, Blaine darted from the room, not wanting the boy to try and strike up a conversation that he couldn't have. However, he found his attempt at avoidance to be in vain when the boy followed him into AP Chemistry and took the seat next to his. Shifting uncomfortably, Blaine mentally willed the boy not to speak. But, for the umpteenth time in his life, he had no such luck.

"Hi," the boy said as he set his satchel down by his feet. "You must be new here."

When Blaine only smiled in response, the other boy's eyes widened. "Or- are you not? Oh god, I'm sorry, I just assumed, that's embarrassing-"

Confused, Blaine shook his head, feeling his face flush under the gaze of the other boy's mystic blue eyes.

For the second time that day, he found himself opening his mouth and having the ability to say nothing; though he had a sneaking suspicion that even if he was physically capable, he still wouldn't have been able to speak to the other boy. Luckily, the teacher walked through the door at that moment, saving Blaine from gaping wordlessly like a fish at the admittedly attractive specimen of boy sitting next to him.

"Alright, class," the teacher, Mrs. Myers, said. "We're going to split into pairs, which will last, barring any unforeseen issues, for the entire year. You and your partner will be working together on all labs and lab reports and any projects I might be assigning.

Now, before I go any further, and because I know you're all already trying to find partners and not paying attention to a word I say. So, you now have five minutes to sort into pairs and take seats next to each other."

Blaine chuckled silently- he felt like he would enjoy this class with Mrs. Myers as the teacher- and his eyes drifted around the room as he watched people happily (or, in the case of a short brown-haired girl and a blonde in a cheerleading uniform, reluctantly) split into groups of two. He waited quietly for the boy next to him to leave and sit next to someone else, probably a pretty girl, and resigned himself to taking the leftover classmate as his partner. He was therefore surprised when the boy waved away a dark skinned girl, who raised an eyebrow at him before stalking off to join a blonde-haired boy, and was even more surprised when the boy turned to _him. _

"I don't suppose you would want to be partners?" he asked, lips quirked into a slight smile.

Blaine smiled back and he nodded, relieved not to be the last to have a partner as he had expected.

The boy's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "Fantastic!" He held out a hand to shake. "I'm Kurt."

Shaking his hand and nodding, Blaine held up the index finger of his other hand, signaling for Kurt to wait, before reaching into his bag. He pulled out his legal pad and picked up Kurt's pen from his side of the table. Kurt watched as Blaine hastily scribbled out his name.

Though he looked confused, Kurt didn't say anything about his method of communicating, and Blaine appreciated that. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Blaine," he said. "I'm glad we're partners."

Blaine flushed once more and nodded. Maybe this school would be better than his last; maybe he could start over, do it right.

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_Settled on the floor of Peter's room with textbooks and papers scattered around them, Blaine and Peter ignored all the schoolwork and focused on each other. Or, more accurately, Peter was focused on Blaine, who was focused on the tips of his shoelaces. _

"_Blaine-" Peter began, watching as the other boy twisted the lace of his Sperry Topsider between his fingers._

"_No."_

"_Blaine, come on, it's okay."_

"_It's not." Blaine didn't look up. He let go of the shoelace and watched as it spiraled into a small curl on the top of his foot. _

"_Why?" Peter asked, shifting to his knees and leaning forward. _

_Blaine straightened the shoelace out and began twirling it once more. "Because."_

"_You're gonna have to give me more than that."_

"_Peter, I don't… I don't like it, hiding part of who I am." Blaine finally looked up through his dark lashes, winding the shoelace around his finger to the point of cutting off circulation._

"_I know, B, I do. I don't like it either." Peter sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "But we can't just… come out, you _know _that."_

"_But why can't we?" The curly-haired boy turned back to his shoes._

"_Blaine, don't be like that. Please." Peter leaned forward and grasped Blaine's chin gently in his hand, forcing him to make eye contact. "Don't you know I see? I see how they treat you, I do. Now just imagine adding the fact that you're gay on top of that. They'd murder you."_

_Blaine kept eye contact, and it became increasingly hard for Peter to keep gazing into his hazel, speckled eyes, slowly becoming wet. "Would you come out with me?" Blaine asked softly._

_Peter started, dropping his hand. "What?" _

"_Would you come out with me?" _

_Peter's chest hurt at the brokenness he heard in the other boy's voice. "I- Blaine-"_

"_It's a simple question, Pete. It just needs a yes or no."_

"_I don't… Blaine, we don't need to worry about this." Peter turned away, ashamed. But he couldn't. He _knew _he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough._

_Finally, Blaine looked away, disappointed. "So you wouldn't."_

"_I… I didn't say that," he said hesitantly._

"_But you didn't say you would."_

"_We _don't _need to worry about this."_

"_No, _we_ don't. But _I _do," Blaine said. He slipped his papers inside his textbook and closed it, shoving it in his messenger bag and standing up._

"_Why-" Peter started, climbing to his feet also._

"_I- Peter, I have to go," Blaine said, turning and shuffling to the door. "I have to… I have to think about things." _

"_Blaine, please don't be mad," the other boy begged. He followed Blaine to the door of his room, grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry, I… I'm sorry."_

_Blaine stared down at their joined hands, as if surprised at Peter's show of affection, even if it was in the privacy of his own bedroom. "I'm n- I'm… I-bye, Peter." He tore his hand out of the other boys and turned the doorknob._

"_I'll see you tomorrow?" _

"…_sure."_

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_**A/N: **__Budda bum. And there ya have it. Again, it's rather short, but most chapters in this story probably will be._

_Please, let me know what you think! And let me know what you think I should update next- this, or The Changes We've Made? ;) _


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **__Here, take a loooong (for me) chapter. ;) I want to thank you all heartily for following and favoriting and alerting. It means a whole lot to me. (I saw that even themuse19 started following and I had a bit of a fangirl moment because her fic Model Behavior is one of my most favorites, and I sincerely hope she doesn't mind me plugging it here...)_

_Anyhow, this chapter kind of got out of hand, and it moves our Kurt and Blaine along a lot faster than I thought it would, but I hope it works... let me know what you think?_

_Also, __**TRIGGER WARNING **__for some self-harm. Please, please heed this warning. I care deeply about all of you and I do know how triggering some stuff can be so- please, just, take care of yourself?_

_I don't own Glee or the song used in this chapter._

_Without further ado, please enjoy. :) _

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The rest of the day went by in a blur, which Blaine was grateful for. Nobody spoke to him so he didn't have to face not speaking to anyone, and soon he was shifting books around in his locker before grabbing the few he needed for homework, shoving them in his satchel, and leaving the school for home.

Blaine had always expected he would be driving himself to school by his junior year, and for the first half of the school year, he had. But after the... incident... his parents had requested that he not, his mother fearing that it would strain his injured shoulder (though he had assured her time and again that it was FINE) and his father because he always went along with what his mother said.

And there was no way Blaine was subjecting himself to a thirty minute bus ride with other noisy, rude high schoolers when he could take a nice peaceful walk by himself and be home within fifteen.

So he walked. His house was only a few blocks away from the school, and there was a nice looking coffee shop in between the two, and the public library. And this particular day was especially beautiful, spring really had sprung, and he shed his jacket about a block away from the school, unbuttoning the cuffs of his Oxford, rolling up his sleeves. He glanced at the thin, faint scars on his wrists, fighting down the bile that rose in his throat because of them, the reminders of darker days, the familiar feelings of helplessness and despair, guilt and hopelessness. He hadn't cut in two weeks now, and he was hoping he never would again.

Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Blaine straightened his bag over the other and reached into his pocket to pull out his iPod. He had just settled the buds in his ears, flicking to a Katy Perry song, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a large black car driving slowly beside him.

Startled and stumbling to a stop, Blaine yanked the earbuds out and backed towards the side of the sidewalk, away from the car. The car braked and the window on the passenger side rolled down. Nervous, Blaine took a step forward, fiddling with the earbuds in his hand. Kurt was leaning across the center console of the Navigator, eyes wide.

"I am so sorry!" Kurt called. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Blaine smiled, stepping up to the window and shaking his head as if to wave off Kurt's worries. His arm came up to rest on the window.

"I was just going to ask if you wanted a ride home, is all," Kurt continued, and Blaine pretended not to notice the way he wiped his hand off on his jeans before gripping the steering wheel again. "If you're walking, I'm guessing you don't live far, so it's probably on my way. I can give you a lift."

Biting his lip, Blaine thought it over. Kurt seemed nice, he did, but Blaine wasn't really comfortable around anyone lately, not even his parents. And a car was such a confined space, what if something happened? How would he escape? Who would help him?

Kurt must've seen the fear on his face, because after a pause, he continued. "I mean, you don't have to, of course. I'm not going to make you get in the car, Blaine." Here he looked pointedly at the curly-haired boy, as if to assure him. "It was an offer, is all, one that still stands."

And Blaine didn't want to let him down, and he found himself nodding, and then Kurt smiled and unlocked the car and next thing Blaine new, he was seated in the Navigator just inches away from Kurt, his bag and jacket on his lap and a seatbelt around his waist.

Kurt grinned at him before his gaze flicked down to the gear shift, and, coincidentally, Blaine's arm, which was laying on top of his jacket. Eyebrows furrowing, Kurt slowly moved his hand to cover Blaine's, and suddenly a cold, hard feeling of dread rushed through Blaine's veins, crashed into his stomach like stormy waves on a shore. He had forgotten to roll his sleeves down.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered, bringing his other hand to grip Blaine's as well, turning it over for a clearer look at the faint red marks. He brushed a thumb over one and bit his lip when the other boy's breathing hitched, an involuntary shudder coursing through his body. Blaine wanted to move his hand, to cover up the scars, but at the same time he didn't. He had just met Kurt, yes, but already he trusted the boy so much more than he did so many others; his parents, his therapist, his teachers, his old friends... And he wasn't sure why. No one else had seen the scars, no one else knew. But for some reason he was sure that even though Kurt did, now, he wouldn't abandon him like he was so scared everyone else would.

When Kurt stopped staring at the scars and lifted his head up, his eyes searching Blaine's, Blaine was surprised to find that there were trails left on Kurt's smooth cheeks from tears. He brought his free hand up to wipe a stray drop under the boy's right eye softly with his thumb, smiling sadly. When Kurt opened his mouth, presumably to start questioning him, Blaine shook his head, still smiling, and held up two fingers.

"Days?" Kurt asked, and Blaine shook his head. "Weeks, then?" Blaine nodded.

Kurt nodded back, and removed one hand from Blaine's, rubbing his eye fiercely. "Blaine, I-" He paused, staring, and the other boy held his gaze. "Let's get you home."

Blaine was a little surprised by this sudden turn in events, but simply nodded again. He was even more surprised to find that, after shifting the car out of park, Kurt's hand found his again, and their fingers tangled together comfortably. Blaine pointed with his free hand to direct Kurt to his house, and soon they were parked in the driveway.

Kurt unlocked the doors, but didn't let go of Blaine's hand. He squeezed it a few times, and, when Blaine turned to look at him, said, "I- I know we just met, Blaine, but I want you to know, if you ever need to talk-" here he grinned a little self-deprecatingly "or, you know, text, whatever, I'm here, okay?" He took Blaine's smile as an acceptance of his offer- which it was- and pulled a pen out of a cup holder, scribbling his number on the back of the hand he still held. Blaine felt a huge grin tug at his lips and did his best to hold it back, to not seem too excited. He couldn't, however, stop the watery smile and the tears that flooded his eyes when Kurt returned the pen, lifted Blaine's hand to his mouth, and on one of the scars laid a very, very soft kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine," he said, and Blaine stumbled, surprised but not unhappy, out of the car and up the sidewalk to the front door, pausing to roll his sleeves back down as Kurt backed his car out of the driveway.

He let himself in, and heard his mother call, "Blaine, is that you?" Instead of calling back in response, he followed her voice to the kitchen, where she was sitting at the table, reading a large textbook. Her long, curly hair was swept into a French braid that ended halfway down her back, and her tan skin looked darker against her white blouse. She had a pen in her hand and was scribbling in a notebook as she flipped through the book.

He waved to her, hanging his jacket on the back of a chair and heading to the fridge to grab a snack. "Don't spoil your dinner, alright, honey?"

Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly and held up an apple, raising an eyebrow. His mother smiled. "I suppose that's alright," she said teasingly. "Come sit down, talk to me."

He looked at her skeptically, but swung his satchel off his shoulder and set it under the table, sitting down across from his mother. She flipped to a new page in her notebook and slid it and the pen towards him wordlessly. Blaine took a quick bite of the apple and held it in his right hand as he picked up the pen in his left, straightening the notebook in front of him. He looked up at his mother.

"How was your day?" she asked.

_Fine. _he scribbled.

"Did you make it to all your classes?"

_Of course. _These questions were too easy.

She smiled at him and teasingly chastised him. "Don't use that attitude with me, Mister. Did you make any friends?"

_I _

Now this question gave him pause. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't really communicated with anyone, or at least, anyone but Kurt. Or maybe it was that he wasn't really sure when acquaintance-hood stopped and friendship began. Was Kurt his friend? They were lab partners, sure, and Kurt had given him a ride home, and kissed his scars... did that make them friends?

_I think so _is what he ended up scrawling.

"Good, good. Did you have any trouble with your teachers?"

Blaine huffed out a breath as he wrote, _My history teacher._

"Why?"

_She wouldn't let me write and got angry when I wouldn't answer her question._

He felt his fingers curling around the pen tighter as he remembered his first class, the anger and humiliation. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, dropping the pen. His fist banged the table.

Mrs. Anderson looked at her son sadly. She could see the hurt, even when he tried to hide it. She wasn't the least surprised when he pounded on the table, though she did worry that it might have jarred his shoulder- she couldn't help it. She knew what Blaine had told her- had written to her- that his shoulder was fine, that it was all healed, even the doctor said so- but after that dislocation, after all that had happened, and especially with him still not being able to utter a word, or make a noise, or, god, _sing, _she couldn't help but see him as her frail little boy. The world had been so unfair to him, and he knew it, and she knew it, but there was nothing they could do about it. What had happened was done, and there was no way they could change it. And even when Blaine tried to hide it, tried to act like he was completely fine and over what had happened, she knew he wasn't, knew he might _never _be over it. She heard him stumbling downstairs in the night even now, a month and a half later. She heard his sniffles as he tried to control his crying. She heard the punches he threw at the wall in his bathroom when he was overtaken by rage and resentment, and she had seen the haunted look in his eyes first thing in the morning, after another night of restless sleep.

But she didn't know how to help him, not really. She and Mr. Anderson had sent him to therapy, they still sent him. They had taken turns sleeping in the hospital room with him, and then, after Blaine had come home, his bedroom. They had transferred him out of his old school, they had deleted his Facebook which had become wrought with hate posts, and they had moved towns. But nothing was helping, not in the way it needed to.

He was still alone, in the dark, bruised and beaten, and she couldn't help him. And there was nothing that hurt her more than seeing her son that way.

"Well... we'll talk to her, Blaine," Mrs. Anderson said, reaching out a hand and sliding it over his. He didn't look up. "Once she understands, I'm sure it will be fine."

Blaine took a deep breath, and she felt his hand relaxing under hers. He nodded and slowly picked up the pen to write one last thing before turning, picking up his bag, and retreating to his bedroom, head low. _I'm going to go do some homework._

"I'll call you down for dinner, sweetie," she called after him, and when she heard the lock on his door click, she sighed and buried her head in her hands, letting the tears fall.

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Up in his room, Blaine unbuttoned his Oxford and dropped it into his hamper, slipping on a v-neck t-shirt and an Old Navy hoodie. He fell back on his bed and sighed loudly. His day had been so nice, for the most part, but there was still something missing. He knew that didn't make sense, that he could have such a nice day and still feel so crappy, but from his experience, that was how depression worked. It didn't care if the circumstances were good or bad, it didn't care if the day had been terrific or awful; somehow, it took every color in the rainbow and turned it to gray. Somehow, it made everything terribly bleak, even if just an hour ago the day seemed perfect.

Out of habit, Blaine twisted around until he was laying on his stomach and reached out to his nightstand to open the drawer and pull out the razor blade. He gripped the blade in one hand and watched as it tugged on the skin on his wrist, watched as a little blood escaped. He lifted it again, but then he saw something that made him pause. Ten little numbers scrawled across the back of his hand in neat print. Blaine pulled his hand back and stared at the numbers, and then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, tapping the numbers in and then the message, "It's been two weeks. Two weeks and I ruined it."

He hit send before he could think to stop himself and clutched the phone in his hand, waiting anxiously for a response. He came off as so desperate, he thought. There was no way Kurt was going to want to be friends with someone so needy. But then his phone buzzed in his hand.

"Please, please stop. I'll be there soon."

And Blaine knew that no matter what, Kurt wouldn't leave. They might've only just met, but Kurt understood in some deep way that Blaine had never believed another would, and he just knew that Kurt would stick around. And Blaine was so grateful.

"Thank you," he typed back.

Kurt pulled up to the house ten minutes later, and Blaine hurried out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door before he could ring the doorbell. He opened the door just as Kurt was climbing the stairs to the porch.

When he saw him, Kurt threw his arms around his neck. "Blaine, please," he began, voice cracking as tears sprang to his eyes. He slowly stepped back and released Blaine. "I know it must be weird for you- you only just met me-"

Blaine cut him off by pressing a finger to Kurt's lips, and holding out his phone, which still had the last message he had sent on the screen. Kurt looked down at it and smiled. "You're welcome," he responded.

Blaine turned and shut the door before turning back to Kurt and gesturing to the porch stairs. Kurt got the message and perched on the edge of the top stair, Blaine plopping down next to him, hands deep in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, gripping his phone.

"Blaine..." Kurt said slowly, focusing on his fingers, picking at one of his nails. "Excuse me if I'm overstepping, but... are you depressed?"

And no one had ever come right out and asked Blaine before, and he wasn't quite sure how to answer, though he knew he only really had to options, not being able to speak. So, like he found himself being with Kurt, he nodded, honest.

"And... does anyone know?"

Another nod.

"I mean, besides me?"

Oh. Blaine shook his head.

"Blaine," Kurt sighed. Blaine frowned and lowered his head, staring at his lap. Kurt was disappointed in him now, he thought he was weak, he was going to-

"You have to tell someone, Blaine," Kurt continued, and Blaine's head jerked up. "You can't go through this on your own, it's too hard."

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed.

Kurt shrugged. He got a far off look in his eyes, gazing somewhere over his shoulder. "I knew... someone," he said vaguely. "They tried to fight it on their own, and they couldn't, and it was the worst thing in the world to watch, to watch them self-destruct and not know why, or how to help, and..." He paused. "I don't want that to happen again, especially not to you."

Blaine watched him, amazed at the care that this boy, this boy he had known for a _day_ was showing to him.

"I've heard that it helps if you describe what the depression feels like to you," Kurt said softly. "That everyone experiences it differently, and it helps if you can identify how you feel it." He turned to look at Blaine, searching his eyes. "Do you want to try?"

Blaine shrugged, nodded a little.

"Okay." Kurt took a pause, folded his hands together. "Does it... does it feel like... like a ghost, following you? Does it sneak up on you?"

Blaine thought a moment, shook his head.

"Maybe, maybe it feels more like fog, like it's always there, and you have to wander through it?"

Another shake.

"Is it... is it like a pit that you have to keep swinging over, maybe like Tarzan on vines?" Kurt asked. Blaine smiled a little at the image of him acting as Tarzan, but shook his head again.

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not sure that I have any ideas left, Blaine."

Blaine froze for a second, closed his eyes, and pulled out his phone. Slowly, silently, he tapped out a message before passing it over to Kurt, who read it quietly. "It feels like rain. Sometimes there's a giant storm when it's least wanted, but more often it feels like a constant gentle rain, one that's always there, and I don't have an umbrella so I'm kind of trying to find a path between the raindrops, but I always get wet."

Kurt finished reading and paused, the phone clutched in one hand. He slowly turned to look at Blaine, who was gazing at his knees, sliding his finger over the newest of the scars on his wrist. Kurt set the phone on the porch and gently moved Blaine's hand away from his wrist, settling it on his own lap, and wrapping his other arm around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine suddenly felt the tears sliding down his cheeks and reached up to wipe them away. Kurt pulled him in close and whispered, "It's okay, it will all be okay, I promise."

And when Blaine began to cry harder, his tears coming faster, Kurt began to sing softly. Blaine was surprised at not the pitch of his voice, but the sincerity behind what he was singing.

_"Look around, _

_There's no one but you and me_

_Right here and now_

_The way it was meant to be._

_There's a smile on my face_

_Knowing that together everything that's in our way_

_We're better than alright."_

Blaine sniffed and wiped his nose gracelessly on his sleeve. Kurt rocked back and forth gently, keeping his arm tight around Blaine.

_"Walking between the raindrops_

_Riding the aftershock beside you_

_Off into the sunset_

_Living like there's nothing left to lose._

_Chasing after gold mines_

_Crossing the fine lines we knew_

_Hold on and take a breath_

_I'll be here every step_

_Walking between the raindrops with you._

_Take me now_

_The world's such a crazy place._

_When the walls come down_

_You'll know I'm here to stay._

_There's nothing I would change,_

_Knowing that together everything that's in our way,_

_We're better than alright."_

Neither boy heard the door creak open quietly behind them, neither of them saw Mrs. Anderson standing in the threshold. Neither saw the quiet tears drifting down her face as she watched her son cry in the arms of a boy she had never seen before, that boy singing softly, and with a love she'd never seen in one that age, never seen in people who had only just met.

Kurt moved his hand up to brush through Blaine's curls gently as he finished off the song, and Blaine moved to nestle his head more snugly in the crook of Kurt's neck and shoulder.

_"Walking between the raindrops_

_Riding the aftershock beside you_

_Off into the sunset_

_Living like there's nothing left to lose._

_Chasing after gold mines_

_Crossing the fine lines we knew._

_Hold on and take a breath_

_I'll be here every step_

_Walking between the raindrops with you_

_Between the raindrops with you_

_Between the raindrops with you."_

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_**A/N: **__Alright, so that's that. If any of you were wondering, the song used is Between the Raindrops by Lifehouse ft. Natasha Bedingfield (and I know, if you follow my other story, you're like HEY. WHAT'S WITH LIFEHOUSE?! I'm SORRY but their songs are GOOD and they FIT contextually!) _

_I hope you enjoyed that chapter! Please let me know what you think. :3 You guys are all awesome. I'll try to update relatively soon, yeah? :) _


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